


Captured On Film

by ladybugpigtails (warriorprincessclarke)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Fashion AU, models au, red carpet au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 03:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7961326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warriorprincessclarke/pseuds/ladybugpigtails
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marinette is a famous young fashion designer and model attending the Dupont Gala and Fashion Show. It is just another glamorous evening on the red carpet for her until somebody wedges their way into her life and leaves her with a memory she won't soon forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captured On Film

   Marinette Dupain-Cheng is the princess of the fashion world. Doubling as a high class designer and super model, there is no doubt that she will someday sit upon the throne as queen. 

   Until then she spends her evenings floating gracefully up and down red carpets, flashing her shy smile at each pulsing flash of a camera. Tonight’s event is the annual Dupont gala and fashion show, and Marinette is the guest of honor. She will not be walking the runway but judging young new hopefuls vying for their shot at stardom. 

   The theme for this year’s gala is masquerade and Marinette is wearing a gown and mask of her own design. The gown’s skirt is dark and billowing and transparent, just brushing the sleek red carpet beneath her feet. The bodice is rose red and covered in penny sized black polka dots. It laces up like a corset in the front but splits mid chest, leaving a stripe of skin exposed. Each side of the fabric continues up and over her shoulders and clings to the sides of her neck. Her mask, which matches the bodice in color and pattern, stretches softly across the bridge of her petite nose. Her hair is gathered elegantly atop her head with her bangs perfectly placed across the right side of her forehead, just barely covering the corner of the mask. If one were to look closely they would see that the updo is encircled by tiny white pearls.

   Marinette steps out of her limousine fashionably late. The rookies who will be walking the runway should have already arrived and been through their phase of awe and wonder of the red carpet. By now the paparazzi should be ready for her. She places each foot tenderly on the sidewalk through the slit in her long skirt. Her deep red stilettos make a soft clack against the concrete. The chauffeur, who had been holding the door for her, gently takes Marinette’s hand and helps her to her feet. She gives him a curt nod and he returns to the driver’s seat, leaving her alone to enter the firing zone that is the red carpet.

   The paparazzi spot her before her heels even touch the carpet. They start yelling her name, commanding poses and directions. She stands up straight, takes a deep breath, puffs out her chest, and pulls herself along the carpet. She makes it to the halfway point and begins posing for the cameras. 

_    “Hand on the hip!” _

_    “Over the shoulder!” _

_    “Pout for me!” _

   She obliges to each call she hears. Her whole world becomes a bubble surrounded by flashes. There is no one else around her, only herself and the cameras. Nothing matters besides showing off the gown she spent hours and hours carefully designing and redesigning. The world became her, the dress, and a wall of light.

   Until somebody gracefully crashes into her world. In reality the affair lasts for a few beautiful moments but to Marinette it feels like a lifetime. One moment she is facing the wall of flashing lights and the next there is a hand around her waist and she is parallel to the light, facing a tall dark figure.

   He is wearing a form fitting dark gray suit with a singular button at his navel. The inner edges of the suit jacket are lined even darker gray with the light gray dress shirt beneath it all. His tie is black and skinny and presses neatly against his chest. Marinette glances up to be greeted with a deep black mask covering from his nose to his eyebrows. His jade eyes are the only bit of color in his entire ensemble. That and his golden blonde hair, which seems to purposely stick out in every direction. Poking out of the top of his head is a pair of pitch black cat ears. An odd choice for a red carpet event but she guesses that with masquerade, anything goes. 

   Marinette feels his palm press into her back, causing it to arch. She leans her weight into his strong arm and he holds her in place. She notices that her hands have found their way to his shoulders and are gingerly draped across each side of his collarbone. His nose is only a few inches from hers and Marinette feels like her eyes are glued to his mask, she cannot look away.

   The masked man smiles coyly as his gaze trails from Marinette’s eyes to her lips. After what seems like hours he speaks. “May I?” He pulls his eyes back up to meet hers but only for a brief second, then he lets them fall back to her baby pink lips.

   Her heart flutters with attraction. Marinette knows exactly what he means. Every logical thought in her mind is telling her to say no because of the wall of cameras to her right. But her heart is telling her that she wants it. Her heart is screaming at her brain,  _ the position you are in right now is enough for the media, how much worse could it get from here? _ Her heart and body ultimately emerge victorious over her brain and she responds, “You may.”

   He closes the gap between their lips and bodies with his hands. The hand around her waist pulls her closer into him and his other hand cups her jawline and guides her to his lips. He slides his hand to the base of her skull to brace himself against her. His lips engulf hers and Marinette feels him pull her closer into the kiss. He pushes with both his lips and his hand, leaving her trapped in the middle. Her mind floods with euphoria and the tension in her muscles fades away as she melts into his embrace. Neither of them move, almost as if they are frozen in time, locked together by their lips.

   Marinette doesn’t want the moment to end, so she doesn’t dare move a muscle. Eventually though, the masked man cuts the moment too short, which, in Marinette’s book, too short would have been any measure of time. Instead of pulling away from her face he leans in toward her ear, on the side facing away from the cameras, and whispers, “Thank you, m’lady.” He plants a swift peck on her now rosy cheek, so quickly there was no way the cameras picked it up.

   With his business done, the masked cat man gently releases her from his embrace. He spins on a dime and saunters down the red carpet into the wide double doors leading into the gala. Marinette follows him with her eyes, her mouth parted ever so slightly.

   As soon as he is out of sight she snaps back to reality. Upon return to the real world she realizes that there is no longer a wall of light, just a smattering of camera shutters here and there. The photographers are, almost, too stunned to take pictures. Marinette regains her composure and gives her best elegant strut down the red carpet and into the gala.

 

   Inside the building Marinette makes a beeline for the nearest restroom. Thankfully it is nearly empty, giving her a chance to calm down before returning to a room full of people who have probably heard the whole story by now. 

   Marinette looks at herself in the mirror. Everything looks the same except her cheeks are flushed and there is a single lock of hair out of place on the left side of her head where the man’s hand had been. She takes some deep breaths. 

_    One, two, three, inhale. Three, two, one, exhale _ . 

   She runs her hands under the cold water and pats a small amount on her face, careful not to disturb her makeup. After her face is sufficiently pale again, she glances at the ornate clock hung above the door to the restroom. It reads 7:51. The show begins at 8:00. She has just enough time to make it to her seat and avoid everyone who may attempt to bring up her scene on the carpet. 

   Marinette’s logical mind is telling her that she should be embarrassed and regretting her performance, but her heart is once again louder than her mind and beats with the sound of happiness. She can’t help but smile at herself in the mirror and graze her bottom lip with her finger. She wonders to herself,  _ did I like the kiss or do I like the mystery? _ In the end she decides on both. The kiss was breathtaking, but who was he? Whose name is going to next to hers in the tabloids when she wakes up in the morning? She looks at the clock again. 7:55. There is no time to ponder over who her mystery man is, so Marinette applies a fresh coat of baby pink lip gloss and exits the restroom exuding confidence she isn’t so sure she really has.

   Marinette reaches her seat moments before the master of ceremonies begins introducing the Dupont Fashion Show. He introduces each of the three judges one by one, Marinette being last. She listens and claps when necessary at the mention of her peers’ names. Then it is her turn.

   Marinette rises from her seat and looks around the crowded room. Her breath catches in her throat and her ascent out of her chair takes a brief pause when she locks eyes with a familiar face. Or rather familiar mask. In the chair directly next to the judge on the opposite end of the table is Marinette’s anonymous Romeo. He is casually leaning his elbows on his knees, one arm dangling between his legs and the other holding up his head. He is craning his neck around the other judges to look at her. When their eyes meet a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth and he uses his three outside fingers to subtly wave at her. Her heart skips a beat and she darts her gaze away.

   Whatever the master of ceremonies is saying about Marinette, she doesn’t hear it. She only knows to sit down because the room erupts into cacophonous applause. She steals one more quick glance at the masked cat. He is now sitting up straight and clapping with the crowd, but his clap is significantly slower than the rest of the room’s. Marinette swears that she can hear his above the rest, but she chalks that up to her currently infatuated imagination.

   The light dims before she looks away. Once again she has to pull herself together and focus on the sole reason she is here tonight, the show. The wannabe supermodels pour out from behind the curtain one at a time. Marinette tries to take notes on her favorites but her brain cannot bring itself to focus. Not with him merely ten feet away. 

   Every time she tries to steal a surreptitious glance across the table, he has always beat her to it. They meet each other's gaze an absurd amount of times in the span of the two hour show.

   The first few times are shy glances where one or both look away quickly, feeling embarrassed or self conscious.

   The glances eventually become lingering, tension and chemistry growing thicker between them every second that their eyes desperately hold onto each other.

   By the end of the night they have become familiar. The masked man will catch her staring and point to the runway as if to tell her,  _ shouldn’t you be paying attention?  _ Her mouth twitches and she guiltily drags her eyes back to the models.

   The show ends and the judges confer. They decide on an ethereal model dressed entirely in shimmering silver. Marinette did not have many to choose from seeing as she could only recall about four of the models. 

   The girl is crowned and the night is over. As the room disperses Marinette desperately scans the sea of heads looking for cat ears. Just as she spies them and their matching pair of green eyes that perk up when they meet her own, Marinette is pulled away by a reporter asking her why the judges chose the winner. She mouths  _ I’m sorry _ in the man’s direction. He gives her a solemn nod and follows the crowd out of the room. She turns her back to him and the oncoming crowd of people to focus on the reporter. Halfway through the interview though, she feels something brush her hand. She darts her head towards the crowd just in time to see the masked man shuffle by and feel his index finger fleetingly hook around her pinky finger. She attempts to catch his eye but he keeps his focus on his destination. He lets her finger fall and that is the last she saw of him that night.

 

   No matter how hard she tried, how much she tried to tell herself it was probably some sick joke or some kind of fever dream, she could not get the masked man out of her head. On the limousine ride home she licked her lips and the taste of her lip gloss brought her back to the moment their lips touched. On the elevator ride up to her penthouse suite apartment, she remembered the way his hand felt on her back. As she fell asleep she remembered the way he looked at her like no matter how long he looked at her, he could never take in the full breadth of her beauty.

 

   The next morning Marinette showed up to her top floor office of Coccinelle Designs with no sign of the drama from the night before. She purposely did not look at the news this morning to avoid embarrassment as long as possible and thankfully none of her coworkers mentioned the pictures she was sure were floating around the internet by now. Everything seemed like it was going to be okay, until she reached her desk.

   Sitting on top of her desk is a beautifully intricate glass vase containing two dozen roses. The vase is resting on the corner of a manila envelope with the words  _ Marinette Dupain-Cheng _ scrawled in large slanted cursive. She slides the envelope out from under the vase and opens it. Inside is a ripped out cover page of a magazine. The picture gracing the front cover is of Marinette and the masked man. Surprisingly it is not a picture of them when they were lip locked but of the moment just before, when they were gazing into each other’s eyes. She stares at the picture, memories and emotions flooding back into her brain. She tears her eyes away from the image long enough to read the headline,  _ Who is Marinette’s Chat Noir?  _ She rolls her eyes at a lowly paparazzi’s attempt at being clever.

   Marinette sets down the cover and only just notices the card attached to the stem of one of the roses. She knows who it’s from. She almost can’t bring herself to read it, afraid of what it is going to say. She takes a deep breath and forces her hand to have a mind of its own and flip the card over.

 

_ Last night we made magic and the whole world got to witness it. _

_ I hope to see you again someday. _

_ I trust you not to kiss and tell  _ _ ♥ _

_ Yours, Adrien _

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah wow I had this idea and executed it within approximately 3 hours and my head hurts but im super proud of it. I feel like this could definitely turn into a chaptered story if that is what people want?? idk let me know. I hope you liked reading it as much as i liked writing it :)
> 
> p.s. if anyone is good at art im literally begging you to draw the moment right before the kiss  
> if you do it @me on tumblr @ladybugpigtails


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